


Dunkirk

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three stories focusing on Laurie's and Ralph's experiences of Dunkirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurie makes his way to Dunkirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally Written for:** Brigit’s Flame January 2010 Challenge – Week Three  
>  **Prompt:** Arrival  
>  **Originally Posted to:** fawatson at LiveJournal on 24/01/2010  
>  **Cross Posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal  
>  **Character Mentioned:** Charles Fosticue  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Notes:** (1) This story’s title is a direct reference to Winston Churchill’s speech to the House of Commons on 13 May 1940 (when he became Prime Minister of the wartime coalition government). He said, “I would say to the House, as I said to those who have joined the Government; 'I have nothing to offer but blood toil tears and sweat'.” (2) The hymn is “I Vow to Thee My Country”; (3) The speech Laurie remembers is one Churchill made to the House of Commons on 5th October 1938, speaking against the Munich agreement. Churchill quoted: "Thou are weighed in the balance and found wanting" from the Bible (Book of Daniel)

Laurie stumbled on his next step; his rifle swung heavily. It had been suspended from one shoulder; now it slipped down one arm and banged painfully against his right thigh. He let it drop to the ground. Only the stick that he’d picked up a mile back kept him from falling ignominiously. His former parade-ground-perfect march was long gone and Laurie leaned heavily on the improvised crutch. Mind you, this was no parade ground. The detritus of defeat was all too evident at the roadside. Abandoned vehicles large and small lined the sides – some damaged by shelling or machine gun fire, others with no fuel. What had once been a wide road, now stretched narrowly before him. He had no real notion where he was now, nor where he was headed. He just knew he had to keep moving. Only the dead were still. He did not want to join them; they lay in the ditches, silent witnesses to the thousands of men passing by.

Laurie could hear the whine of Messerschmitts in the sky. They were in the distance though, so he didn’t look for cover, but continued walking, head down, watching his way carefully. He could not afford to fall. Each step hurt, but as long as the wound in his leg didn’t open again, he thought he could make it – well _hoped_ anyway. 

“You all right, mate?” 

The other man was from a different regiment; the shape of the badges on his jacket told Laurie that much, though he could not make out any details beneath the grime that smeared them. There were six men, obviously together, who had shortened their steps to match his slow pace, as they reached him. 

“Any idea where we’re going?” asked Laurie. 

“We were told to head for Dunkirk,” came the reply. “What did they tell you?”

“Every man for himself.” 

Laurie smiled grimly as he recalled. His squad had just dug in again after a retreat, when their position was shelled. Both the lieutenant and sergeant had been killed. He had tried to rally the men, but military command did not come easily yet; he’d only had his stripe a few weeks. The remaining men had just decided to leave and he’d not known how to stop them. Not that it had done them any good. They had all been caught by the next blast, just as they were climbing out of the shallow trench; they’d have done better to stay under cover until the shelling stopped. But Laurie didn’t say this: let the dead rest in as much peace as they could find in this torn and chaotic land. He also didn’t bother to mention how the bodies of his comrades had tumbled back over his own, providing cover, protecting the very man they’d been about to abandon. His uniform was soaked in their blood. He’d lain there for hours, shaking with fear, until he was sure the Germans had stopped their shelling. It was only when he’d dug himself out from under the dead, and started on his way, that he’d fully realised he too had been hit. The shock of all that he’d heard and seen had taken precedence over his own injury, until his leg had given way as he pulled himself out from his hiding place. 

His new companions nodded briefly. “Fucking mess,” said one, before they quickened their pace and drew ahead of him. Once again Laurie was left to make his way on his own. As the afternoon wore on, a succession of soldiers drew near and conversed briefly, before passing. No one knew much; everyone seemed as disoriented as he. All were heading for the sea in hope of rescue. Laurie couldn’t see how that would happen; but like everyone else he trudged on. 

A Stuka dived, bombing the way up ahead. Fortunately Laurie had noticed its approach in time and moved to the side of the road, taking shelter in the shrubbery beneath the trees. Fresh corpses added their stench to the scene he emerged to after the plane had flown on. He resumed his weary journey.

Around the next corner he found a lone man collapsed against an oak tree, and passed him without pause. Fragments sung in a tired cracked voice, drifted across to him. 

_Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love:_  
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,  
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best; 

Laurie shuddered. How many times had he sung that hymn himself? All those Sunday services at home in the village church - all those Sundays at school. It had been one of his favourites. Strangely, though, he found it helped. His steps moved slowly, but more evenly, as he kept time to the tune in his head. If he got home, would he remember this? 

The insistent ringing of a bell alerted him to the approach of a bicycle from his rear. The way was particularly narrow at that point, blocked as it was by two tanks and a mound he did not care to look at too closely. Laurie leaned against the back of a smashed armoured car for a moment as the battered old bicycle wobbled past. He wondered where the soldier who was riding had found it – stolen in all likelihood. He had once had a bicycle just like it; he too had ridden down country roads – made narrow by overgrown hedges rather than the broken implements of war. Almost he could hear his dog bark, almost.... 

Laurie started alert to the realisation he had nodded off. How long had he been asleep? It was dusk, now. Through the trees he could see the last streaks of sunset to the west. Its beauty and peace were a welcome balm, but also warned he needed to keep going. The road was clearer now. That probably meant most of the troops had already passed through. If there were to be any chance of rescue he needed to be there _now._ His leg had stiffened while he dozed, and Laurie’s steps were even more halting as he peered through the gathering gloom. The sound of footsteps mirroring his made him turn uncertainly to face a new companion. 

“See – I _told_ you it was a stupid thing to do!” Charles jeered. “Don’t you wish you’d stayed in Oxford now? But no, you just had to go.” 

“Munich,” Laurie mumbled. “What Churchill said – we talked about it – about being found wanting...I couldn’t....”

“Here, mate – are you all right?” 

A new voice broke through, as a helpful hand patted his right shoulder. Laurie shook his head to clear it, and looked into the concerned face of a stranger. No, of course, Charles wasn’t here. Those had been the arguments that had helped him to see through Charles and his self-serving friendship last year. He must have drifted off again. 

“Come on – don’t give up now. There’s an aid station half a mile ahead, and Dunkirk just beyond.” 

Laurie accepted this – too numb to question how the man knew what none of the other travellers on this road had known. Once again he started, his limp even more pronounced. He stumbled as he crossed the station’s threshold but someone noticed and eased him to the floor. His trouser leg was slit open; the cloth stuck to his wound. A basin of water was needed to soften the dried muck enough so the material could be peeled back revealing the puffy and swollen leg. He hissed as it was first washed in alcohol before some antiseptic powder was sprinkled on and a dressing applied. Pushed off to one side of the room, after the hasty examination and first aid, Laurie gulped down a tin cup of water while he rested briefly.

“Transport!” The loud yell through the door created a little flurry of activity. “He’s ready to go,” said one of the aides before he went in back to tend to someone else. Laurie used his stick to help lever himself upright before hobbling to the clearing outside. In short order, he was holding on for dear life as an overburdened Rover jounced over the broken cobbles and rubbish-strewn streets of Dunkirk town on its way to the shorefront. The temporary order and calm atmosphere of the aid station was left behind. In the dim light it was difficult to see much; but surrounding sounds told the story: anger and confusion from the beaten and demoralised army that had descended on this beleaguered town; terror and desperation from its inhabitants facing an unstoppable invader. 

The vehicle passed through a brief gap in sea wall onto the top of the beach and stopped abruptly. Unprepared for such a quick arrival, Laurie found himself thrown across the men next to him. They needed help to disentangle themselves, before the aides deposited them to manage for themselves off on one corner of the beach, while they returned to unload the stretcher cases. 

In the distance winked the lights of ships standing off from the shore. Closer in, Laurie could see the vague outline of some kind of long shape jutting out into the sea. It was hard to see in the dark; but he presumed this must be the pier where they were loading men onto ships. He could hear the low rumble of tired voices and make out the flickering of cigarettes nearby. God, how he wished he had one, but he’d lost all of his, long since. _How many men are waiting here?_ he wondered. How long would _he_ wait? 

Would rescue come?


	2. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurie and Reg wait on the beach awaiting rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 11/11/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.   
> **Author's Note:** This was originally written in honour of Remembrance Day 2009  
>  **Acknowledgements:** Inspiration for this came from queen_ypolita’s and my_cnnr’s discussion about Laurie’s experiences during the Dunkirk evacuation.

Laurie opened his eyes reluctantly at the touch on his shoulder. He had dozed off again – must be careful about that. It would be too easy not to rouse himself, and then he might be left behind. 

“All right, Corporal? Here, have a sip.” 

Laurie essayed a slight smile at the man who squatted next to him offering his canteen - another soldier, though not one from his regiment. God it was all such a mess. No one seemed to know what was going on. Where possible, soldiers were sitting in little clumps with comrades from their regiments, huddled together for solidarity as much as warmth. But there were a lot of singletons like himself, usually men who were the only survivors from their group, all of them with wounds of some kind. The lieutenant was trying to do his duty by all the stretcher cases, not just his own – clearly a decent sort. 

“Another ship coming in, now – won’t be long before it’s our turn.” The lieutenant had that encouraging tone in his voice. Laurie remembered using the same voice to his own men during the retreat. They were all dead now, caught in that shell blast that had left him with a gamey leg, though fortunately not _too_ bad. Well, he’d managed to get to the aid station anyway, and they’d sent him on here. 

Laurie turned his head slightly to look seaward. Flickering lights winked back at him from a distance. He could see men closer to the sea’s edge organising themselves into queues for the next loading. Probably not this time - there were too many ahead - maybe next. His eyes closed again.

Shouts and screams surrounded him when Laurie roused again. The high pitched drone and machine gun fire from Messerschmitts threatened. He was flat already, so no need to duck; but he could see others round him throwing their jackets as decoys. The strafing run ended and the survivors checked themselves over first, before looking to the fallen beside them. A few feet away lay the lieutenant, body contorted but resting now forever, his duty done, his grey face stark in contrast to the bright red of his chest. A foot beyond him another soldier flailed and cried out. Laurie crawled across. 

“For God’s sake just put a bullet in me. I can’t go on like this!” 

“It’s just your arm; hospital will soon put that right,” said Laurie. 

“Bloody hell, it’s not me _arm_ – I’m _blind_ you fool!”

“No worries,” said Laurie. “It’s just blood.” He refrained from mentioning whose blood, while he pulled off his jacket and wiped it across the man’s face, revealing painfully swollen eyelids. He crawled over, slowly, his leg dragging in the sand, to retrieve the lieutenant’s canteen. It was almost empty. He took a sip for himself, then crawled back to give the other soldier a sip. The last few drops went on the man’s eyes. It was enough to help Laurie pull the lids open - just a crack. The soldier screamed and cursed, but he could see again and calmed quickly. 

“Best collect your things and be ready to move,” came an order. “You lot will be next.” 

Laurie looked up to see an officer silhouetted against the sun. 

“Orders have come down: no stretcher cases. Can you manage with that leg?”

Laurie was surprised by the question until he looked down at his knee. He must have taken another hit in that last attack. He hadn’t noticed the fresh insult to flesh already throbbing from the previous injury.

“I’ll see he gets on,” came the gruff voice beside him. 

“Good man.” The officer moved off to alert another group. 

“Reg Barker.” A grimy hand was offered by way of introduction. 

“Odell.”

Reg laughed briefly, “Spud!”

“Yes.”

“We’d best get a move on, then. Stupid pip-squeak that – ‘collect your things’ he says – like it’s some holiday to Blackpool. Not but what he’s not right that it’ll take the two of us a bit of time to get to the ship.” Reg had pulled himself up while talking. Now he reached down his good arm to Laurie, helping to balance as Laurie staggered to his feet. “You lean on me while I tell you about my missus. You can tell me all about your girl.”


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph is shipwrecked during the Dunkirk evacuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally Posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 31/05/2010  
>  **Originally Written for:** Sunday Tea Challenge  
>  **Prompt:** Respite   
> **Disclaimer:** I don’t own these characters and make no profit from them

In years to come Ralph could never see the word without remembering the horror: the cold water of the Channel in springtime – bone-numbingly cold (mercifully cold; he knew the throbbing in his hand would be worse, save it was so chilled he could barely feel he had one); the exhaustion of his arms as he tried to swim to the nearest boat. A sailor from the ship gave a shout as he threw a buoy towards him. The splash from it meeting the water hit him square in the face. He reached out one hand to grab, missed, flailed wildly, and caught another mouthful of seawater. 

“Here you go, mate!” 

While Ralph had been making for the buoy, a boat had approached from behind. Hands rough with callous caught his jacket and pulled him over the side. He sprawled ungainly like a beached whale in the bottom of the rowboat, lying over the boots of the oarsmen for a moment, before deft hands righted him. He sat hunched and shivering while the boat made for another sailor, and another, before it turned back to the vessel that had come to their rescue. 

Ralph felt the ignominy of being unable to climb up to the deck, but his ordeal in water had left him sluggish and uncoordinated. Somehow he just couldn’t get his arms and legs to work right. He had to be hauled up like some cargo. The ship was packed with evacuated soldiers – just as his had been earlier in the day. Now he was one of the rescued, bundled off into a too small corner with a blanket round his shoulders. It smelled rather strongly of blood and sweat, but he didn’t mind the pong, just huddled down into it and tried to block out the sounds of misery round him. A bottle of rum was passed round and he took a grateful swig before handing it to the man beside him. 

“Not him – he’s a goner. Messerschmitt got him last go-round.” 

In a daze, Ralph glanced to his left. Sure enough, there was a small red hole in the middle of the other man’s forehead. No wonder his nearest companion had made no protest when he’d stumbled into him while sitting down. A burly arm stretched cross the body, plucked the bottle from Ralph’s hand, and upended it before passing it along down the row. 

“What ship is this?” Ralph asked. 

“Damned if I know,” came the answer. “What difference does it make? Oh – you’re navy. Bad luck!” 

Ralph shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. Seated on the deck, he could feel the ship’s vibrations, feel it slowing as it neared the harbour. He heard the familiar sounds of sailors running, of commands being given, could imagine the signals being exchanged as the ship came into the pier. He felt a great shudder go through the deck as the ship came to a halt. 

The wait until his section was told to move was interminable, but of course they off-loaded port-side first. He had stiffened so much during the wait, that he had to be helped to stand. Once he got moving, though, it was all right. As he made his way down the gangway he looked back up at the ship that had rescued him: HMS Respite.


End file.
